


Head Over Tail

by darkangel0410



Series: Scars and Souvenirs [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: D/s, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:53:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkangel0410/pseuds/darkangel0410
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's twenty the first time he meets Patrick; he's the first unclaimed sub Patrick's ever met who's over the age of seventeen. They click almost immediately but that doesn't mean things will be easy for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Over Tail

**Author's Note:**

> I should note some things here real quick: in this verse, everyone's either a Dom or a sub; subs are usually collared after they're of age -which is seventeen here- and if they're not, their parents have to pay a huge ass tax on them every month. I tried to stick as close to canon as I could, but obviously it's not exactly canon. If you have any other questions, just comment or message me or whatever and I'll be happy to answer them. Hope you enjoy it.

Patrick's first thought when he opened his front door and saw Pete Wentz standing there wasn't anything he could have predicted; it wasn't any fanboy thoughts about how this was _Pete Wentz_ from _Arma Angelus_ and _RaceTraitor_. It was simply: _**Huh. He's only an inch taller than I am**_.

 

He managed to keep his thoughts to himself -he didn't want to alienate Pete the first time they met, he figured that could wait until their second or third meeting; Pete, it seemed, had no such qualms.

 

“Fuck. What are you, twelve? And is that argyle? I'm going to shoot Trohman.”

 

“You're Pete Wentz? I thought you'd be taller,” Patrick said, his smart-ass reflex kicking in.

 

It wasn't exactly an auspicious first meeting, all in all.

 

*

 

Despite their first words to each other -or maybe because of them; Patrick could be contrary as fuck when he wanted to be and he suspected Pete was the same- they quickly struck up a friendship that seemed to revolve around Pete incessantly texting Patrick, Patrick telling him to stop acting like such a needy bitch and music; it always came back to the music -dissecting lyrics, discussing their favorite artists, setting up their band practices -having Patrick demonstrate whatever music he was writing on whatever instrument happened to be closest to him.

 

It felt comfortable to Patrick, easy, like they'd been friends for years. It wasn't until about six months in that Patrick realized Pete was a sub; and it was an accident that he even found out.

 

*

 

They had been going to do pick up Joe for practice and Patrick had been fighting with his girlfriend -over the band, of course- for almost an hour and he had finally shut his cell phone off and slouched forward, resting his head on the dashboard of Pete's car.

 

Pete had been fiddling with the radio, changing each station after only a few seconds. Finally, Patrick had just turned to him and spit out, “Fucken stop it already, Pete.” Without thinking, he had put that extra bit of authority in his voice, that edge of power that so readily marked him as a dom even though he was only just turned sixteen. Pete's reaction had been just as telling; he'd immediately stopped what he was doing and put his hands back on the steering wheel, his head tilted to the side before he'd met Patrick's eyes and looked away, his hand going back to play with the radio, almost as if nothing had happened.

 

But his shoulders stayed tense for the rest of the night.

 

*

 

It was another two weeks before the subject came up again.

 

By that time, they had worked through the first couple days of awkwardness between them and settled back into the same pattern they had before.

 

Except now, Patrick always made sure to watch what tone of voice he used when he was hanging out with Pete; they were friends before anything else -and yeah, he's curious as fuck as to why Pete's fucken twenty-one and not collared, but he's not going to poke at it with a stick; not unless Pete brought it up first, at least- and Pete deserved better than for Patrick to use something he couldn't help against him.

 

Well, maybe not deserved -Pete _was_ an asshole, a lovable one, sure, but still a complete jackass most days- but Patrick wasn't going to cross a line like that; he wasn't going to do something that big -especially if it wasn't what Pete wanted.

 

So, yeah, everything was normal between them again.

 

Except now, when Patrick couldn't sleep at night, he thought about using Pete's biology against him -but in the best way possible. And he didn't think about it every night, just when he had hard time sleeping; which was only every other day. But, hell, he was sixteen, dom or not, and all his restraint was currently tied up with not actively attacking his best friend, so Patrick thought he could be forgiven for slipping a time or two -or twenty- in his mind.

 

But Patrick didn't let any of that show on his face when he saw Pete at band practice or when they were hanging out or driving around or doing any of their usual stuff; he kept it for when he was alone and in bed and his conscious was fucking off and not making him feel guilty about his fantasies.

 

“I wanted to say thanks,” Pete told him, bursting into his basement and flinging himself onto the old couch next to Patrick.

 

Patrick barely looked up from the Rolling Stone magazine; he was so used to Pete coming and going like a tornado that it didn't even register any more.

 

“For what?” Patrick asked absently, most of his attention on the article about guitars he was looking at; he was trying to work up points for the counter argument he knew his mother would have when he told her he needed a new one for Christmas.

 

“The other day -in the car,” Pete said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

 

This time, Patrick actually _looked_ at Pete; noticed the way he was looking every where except at Patrick's face, the way he was biting his lip and acting more nervous than Patrick had ever seen him -and that included the time Pete had started a brawl against four other guys with only Patrick as back up and that one had ended with both their noses broken and Pete's ribs cracked.

 

“Just...for not making a big deal of it,” Pete went on, his fingers picking at the tears in the knees of his jeans. “I didn't want – I would have told you...” He trailed off and than shrugged, still determinedly not meeting Patrick's gaze.

 

“It's not,” Patrick paused for a second and tried to find the right words. “It's not my business. I mean, you're my best friend and if you want to talk about it -or whatever- than, yeah, I'll listen to you, but if you decide to never bring it up again, that's cool, too.

 

“And I'm not going to treat you different because of -you're still you, Pete. I'm not going to freak out and get all,” Patrick waved his hand around, hoping that it conveyed his point clear enough.

 

“In the first place, that would be a shitty thing to do, and in the second, I couldn't do something like that to anyone without their express permission before hand -and I'm especially not going to do that to my best friend.”

 

There was silence for a few minutes and than Pete looked Patrick in the eye and grinned.

 

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Pete said as he tried to pull something out of his pocket. “I wrote this down yesterday -fuck, these pockets are a pain in the ass.”

 

“Maybe if you stopped wearing girl jeans, you wouldn't have this problem,” Patrick smirked as he smoothed out the piece of paper Pete gave him.

 

It was only a sentence and a half scrawled on the back of a receipt - _ **i was terrified and would you mind if i sat next to you and i don't think your boyfriend can treat you right**_ \- but Patrick could already hear the beginnings of music playing through his mind, the notes and sounds lining up so easily for him the way the words never did.

 

“You bring anything else with you?” Patrick murmured, his fingers already drumming a vague beat on his knee as he tilted his head to the side.

 

“Yeah, my notebook's in my car; I'll go grab it,” Pete told him and got up.

 

Patrick barely heard him; he was focused on the music in his head and the words in his hand and completely missed the contemplative look Pete fixed on him before he went upstairs.

 

 

*

 

 

“I didn't want it to interfere with what I wanted,” Pete said suddenly, glancing at Patrick out of the corner of his eye.

 

They were on their way to band practice; Pete had picked Patrick up from school and they were heading over to Joe's to give him a ride over to Andy's.

 

“I always wanted more, you know? I always knew the more included music but until I got back from that boot camp, I didn't know how. And I didn't like the idea of having someone else having the power to make those kinds of decisions for me. Especially after that...” Pete trailed off and Patrick saw his jaw clench for a second before he went on.

 

“I've never been good at behaving the way people want me to.”

 

Patrick couldn't help the snicker that escaped and Pete grinned, understanding his amusement.

 

“And when I got into the music scene, I didn't want some jackass to think I was going to bend over for him just because of some stupid thing in my genes that I have no control over. Most of the local musicians are doms, anyway, so as long as I acted the part, they saw what they wanted to.”

 

“Your parents, they don't...” Patrick flailed for a second before he found what he wanted to say. “It doesn't bother them that your uncollared? I mean, isn't there, like, a tax for it or something? Not that I want you pushed into something you don't want, obviously, I just don't...get why they wouldn't be trying for that.”

 

“They've never known what to do about me,” Pete said, shrugging his shoulder. When they stopped at a red light, he look at Patrick, a self-deprecatory smirk twisting his lips. “I never acted the way they thought I should. By the time I got back home, my mom was going through her second divorce and my dad was still trying to bang his secretary; they gave me whatever I wanted so I'd go back to doing whatever it was that I was doing before I left.

 

“It was a win for everyone; I got to be in charge of my own life and they got to go back to their fucked up marriages and girlfriends and pool boys or whatever. They still feel guilty about sending me away to get fucked up even more, so they pay the fine without complaining about it and it makes me feel warm and tingly inside to know that they're getting hit where it hurts every month -their bank account.”

 

“No one knows?” Patrick asked as Pete looked back out the windshield, putting on the turn signal to go down Joe's road.

 

“No, “ Pete answered, his shoulder jerking again. “I think Andy knows something's up but he hasn't said anything to me. I don't really let myself ...be myself around most people -I like fights and shit as much as the next person, and, yeah, it would get me tons of attention but I'd rather get that attention 'cause our band is fucken awesome or 'cause I acted like an asshole or 'cause I fucked somebody's girlfriend or boyfriend, whatever.”

 

They pulled up in front of Joe's house and climbed out of the car. Patrick bumped his shoulder against Pete's as they went up the front sidewalk.

 

“Hey, you know I would never,” Patrick started to say, ducking his head and shrugging when he couldn't find the words he needed to get his point across.

 

But Pete understood what he couldn't say.

 

“No shit, Lunchbox,” Pete grinned as he pulled Patrick to his side for a quick noogie.

 

“My hat, jackass,” Patrick griped and shoved Pete away from him.

 

Pete snickered and than jogged up the porch steps. He pounded on the door until they could hear Joe yelling inside before he whipped open the door and glared at Pete for a second before Pete shouldered his way past Joe into the house.

 

“Fucken Pete Wentz,” Joe said, affection in his voice even as he rolled his eyes.

 

“Hey, Trohman, you got any cereal?” Pete's muffled voice filtered through the house, punctuated by the light thumping of cabinet doors opening and closing.

 

“Fucken Pete Wentz,” Patrick agreed as he followed Joe into his house and they both headed for the kitchen.

 

Patrick had a feeling that he meant it in a very different way than Joe did.

 

 

*

 

 

The thing was, Patrick had always considered himself a good person; sure, he could be stubborn and his temper tended to explode out of no where at absolutely nothing and, yeah, he had asshole tendencies (nothing like Pete's -but, seriously, who's were?) but he never went out of his way to hurt someone and he never used his status as a dom to get what he wanted the way he knew some people did; he didn't cheat on his girlfriend, he helped his mom when she asked for it, he was polite to people (unless they deserved him being rude, than all bets were off) and, all in all, he considered himself to be a decent human being.

 

But once he found out Pete was a sub, Patrick had to rethink that assumption.

 

It wasn't that he was suddenly attracted to Pete -he always had been but Patrick had dealt with that from the beginning; he had shoved it into a corner of his mind to be forgotten. Pete was hot, that was undeniable, but Pete was another dom -and Patrick knew from his own parents' experience that that was one dynamic that never worked out for anyone involved. Patrick could look at Pete and appreciate the way he looked but it was like looking at a painting or seeing Bowie on TV; they looked good and were awesome to check out but you never expected to be able to do anything with them.

 

And then he found out Pete was a sub.

 

When the dreams started, Patrick tried to shrug them off; he figured if he ignored them, they would go away. And when they didn't, it still didn't seem like that big of a deal; sex dreams didn't have to mean anything -it could just be his body's way of telling him to get fucken laid.

 

But they got worse, escalated to daydreams when he was in school, scenarios he'd run over in his head when he couldn't sleep at night. He knew it had gotten out of hand when he had Anna pinned to his bed, her arms stretched out over her head, his hands keeping her wrists against the mattress and for a second he could picture Pete in her place; his body straining against the hold Patrick had on him, his tattoos already marking the skin that Patrick wanted to put his own marks on.

 

Patrick's mind completely shorted out, his vision dimmed and when Anna called out his name as she got off, he heard Pete's husky voice instead. He never came so hard in his life.

 

Afterward, Anna had cuddled up against him for almost ten minutes while he franticly tried to keep himself from freaking out; it wasn't the guy aspect of it that was messing with him -his first kiss had been a guy; he'd always been a firm believer that you were attracted to a person, not their gender- but that _he had just pictured his best friend while he was fucking his girlfriend_.

 

Luckily, Anna had no idea what was going through his head; she wasn't a bad person or even really selfish, but she hated the band -more accurately, she hated Pete. From the instant she met him, she had taken an instant dislike to Pete -and the feeling was mutual. Patrick could tell by Pete's frosty politeness whenever they happened to be in the same area and he couldn't avoid talking to her; in the way Pete looked at her, his eyes hard and cold.

 

And if Anna had any idea how guilty Patrick felt at that moment, there was no doubt in his mind that she would use it to try to get him to quit the band. She had already started hinting that she thought he should find something else and Patrick didn't feel like getting into the same fight again this week.

 

When Pete called to tell him that they had to move practice to tonight on account of Andy having a show on Friday, Patrick was glad for the distraction. He didn't even mind the eye roll Anna gave him when he told her he had to go. They got dressed and even while they were talking, his mind kept focusing on the fact that _he had just pictured his best friend while he was fucking his girlfriend_.

 

Patrick walked her to the front door, unsurprised when he opened it and Pete was coming up the front walkway; _of course_ , that was the way his luck was running today.

 

“Call me when you get home,” Anna had said, giving him a quick kiss before she turned and headed for her car.

 

“Anna,” Pete had murmured, polite enough even if the tone made Antarctica seem warm.

 

“Wentz,” and there was nothing even remotely nice in the slight sneer that crossed Anna's lips.

 

When Pete had grinned at him and Patrick had found himself smiling back, he had known he was in trouble.

 

 

*

 

 

It was inevitable that him and Anna broke up.

 

“We were always gonna break up,” Patrick confessed to Pete while they were tuning their guitar and bass before a show they were playing at a friend's house.

 

“Yeah?” Pete looked up from his bass and arched an eyebrow at him. “You seem really cut up about it, 'Trick.”

 

“Not all of us go off the emo deep end when we get dumped,” Patrick rolled his eyes to let Pete know he was teasing him before he went on in a more serious tone.

 

“We didn't want the same things; she thought I was wasting my time with all this,” Patrick waved his hand to encompass the whole scene; them tuning guitar and bass, Andy looking over his kit with a maniacal gleam in his eyes that promised death if anyone had scratched his drums, Joe absently playing a few chords while his eyes roamed over the small makeshift stage and the dozen or so kids milling around the backyard where they were setting up.

 

“I couldn't get her to understand that I need this, to make music, like,” Patrick struggled to find the right words and he could feel his face heat up the way it did when he was embarrassed.

 

“Most people need air,” Pete finished for him, nodding like it was easiest thing in the world to understand. “I never said this while you guys were together, Pattycakes, but Anna's a bitch. Fuck her if she can't see how fucken huge we're gonna be.”

 

Patrick winced at the nickname but otherwise let it pass; he had learned -the hard way- that if he didn't call Pete on any of them, he got tired of the nicknames a lot faster. In almost everything he did, the reaction was what Pete was after.

 

“Sure, Pete,” Patrick said but he could hear the amusement in his own words. “You want to see if everyone's ready to get going?”

 

As Pete went over to Andy and Joe, Patrick wondered vaguely how anyone managed to get along without a Pete to give them words they needed and to help balance them out.

 

 

*

 

 

When they went on tour, Patrick thought he prepared himself for a lot of different things; the fact that he would be living on top of three other guys, the fact that he would have no personal space, that he would have to live out of a duffel bag for months, sleep in the van most nights. He'd need to think about someone else's eating habits when he got snacks at a gas station (he didn't know much about vegans, but he was pretty sure that Cheetos weren't on their approved food list), he needed to learn to deal with the fact that Joe's clothes always smelled like pot, no matter how long it had been since he'd actually smoked anything. Basicly, he knew he would be stuck with Pete, Joe and Andy 24/7, for the whole summer.

 

What he hadn't taken into account was that he would be _with Pete all summer long_. Yeah, they spent a lot of time together before this but Patrick had school during the week and they weren't living in the same house, so there was still down time in between them seeing each other. But now? Now, Patrick had Pete in his space all the fucken time and Patrick was afraid something was going to give sooner or later.

 

It wasn't that they were fighting with each other -they argued, but Patrick could handle the bitching and sniping they fired at each other randomly when they were feeling pissy and homesick.

 

It wasn't even the way Pete was constantly in the middle of either starting a a brawl or actually getting his face punched in; hell, it wasn't even the way Pete was constantly having sex with anyone who looked even mildly interested and was a sub.

 

No, it was simpler than that; it was sharing beds on the rare times someone let them crash at their house after a show or the even rarer occasions they had enough money for a hotel room, sleeping against each other in the back of the van -squished in between the seat and the amp where there was barely enough room for one person, never mind two.

 

It was having Pete sprawl over him at any given second; his feet on Patrick's lap while he read a book or listened to music, his head on Patrick's shoulder while they were bullshitting with whoever happened to be awake and coherent. Just leaning against him while he listened to his iPod.

 

And it was pretending to be asleep on the bench seat with Andy and Joe in the front with the radio on while Pete jerked off in the back, his moans barely audible.

 

And, yeah, he had to deal with all of that with Andy and Joe, too, but they never made his chest tighten and make him feel like he couldn't breathe, like there was too much pressure there for his heart to keep beating.

 

After a month in, Patrick knew he was going to be fucked by the end of the summer.

 

 

*

 

 

Halfway through the summer, Patrick noticed that Pete's fights were escalating -hardly a day went by where he wasn't in at least a shoving match with someone else. It wasn't hard to guess what was going on; especially when Patrick caught Pete in the bathroom at some motel they were staying at with one hand wrapped around his dick and the other hand pressing against the bruise that was decorating his ribs.

 

Their eyes met for a second before Patrick mumbled an apology and backed out of the room. He slumped against the bathroom door for almost a minute, trying to talk himself out of it, before he was opening his jeans enough to slip his right hand under the waistband of his boxers.

 

Even as he started stroking himself and told himself it was wrong, Patrick knew that he would remember the sight for a long time.

 

 

 

*

 

 

It was only a week later that the fight happened.

 

Neither one of them had been sleeping; Pete not for three or four days and for Patrick it was almost as long. They stopped at a gas station to gas up and get snacks, Pete and Patrick got out to stretch their legs and ended up leaning against the van.

 

Patrick didn't remember what started it but before he knew it they were shoving each other, yelling about who knew what; he could remotely hear Joe and Andy arguing over who was going to break it up and than Pete's fingers were scratching at his throat and his temper finally completely snapped.

 

Patrick ripped Pete's fingers off before he shoved Pete against the van, his head cracked against the metal and made a thudding noise. Before Pete could even try to get his feet under him again, Patrick's fingers were wrapped around Pete's throat, keeping him pinned to the van.

 

“What the fuck,” Patrick snarled, his fingers tightening slightly and his power riding his voice. “Is your damn problem, Pete? You're practically _begging_ for someone to put you on your knees and sort you out.”

 

Pete moaned, the sound barely audible with Patrick's hand still around him and squeezing. Patrick looked into his eyes and saw the pupils completely blown so there was hardly any brown showing; he couldn't really move too much but Pete managed to tilt his head enough to get his point across.

 

 _ **His throat**_ , Patrick thought, the realization throwing him for a brief second. **_He's showing me his throat_**.

 

A quick glance down showed Patrick that not only was Pete hard, his dick pushing up against the tight jeans he was wearing, but that the rest of his body was limp, relaxed against the van and it hit Patrick that they could be in the middle of a scene for all the distress Pete was showing.

 

“Uh, guys, this might not be the best place to do this,” Joe said, clearing his throat slightly. He gave Andy a dirty look over his shoulder and Andy just smirked and motioned for him to go on.

 

“I don't want to get in the middle of whatever this _thing_ you guys are doing but Andy's a fucken cheater and I lost Rock, Paper, Scissors, so I really need you guys to stop before someone calls the cops.”

 

Patrick took a deep breath and nodded and he loosened his grip on Pete's neck. Once Pete looked like he was going to be able to stand on his own, Patrick let go.

 

“We'll be there in a second,” he told Joe, not taking his eyes off of Pete. “I just want to talk to our bassist for a minute.”

 

“Alright,” Joe said after a second. “Hurry it up, yeah?”

 

“You need to stop this, Pete,” Patrick told him in a low voice; he made sure there was nothing but concern in his tone -he didn't want to make Pete think he _had_ to listen to him. He didn't want Pete to think it was an order from dom to sub; especially since he wasn't even Pete's dom.

 

“You're going to get hurt -seriously hurt, I mean, not just bruises and red marks.

 

“What if it was someone else who you goaded into strangling you? What if they didn't stop? You'd be -”

 

“No,” Pete interrupted, his voice hoarse. He leaned back against the van but kept his eyes on Patrick's. “I would never – You're the only one I'd trust enough for it to get that far.”

 

Patrick felt his chest tighten at Pete's admission; he had suspected, of course -Pete didn't relax around anyone else the way he did around him, not even Andy and Joe- but to hear him _say_ it sparked a familiar twist of possessiveness and protectiveness that settled over him; it was stronger than it had ever been with Anna or any of his other partners.

 

“I just... Sometimes I feel like my skin's too tight, like I can't breathe,” Pete finally went on, jerking his eyes away from Patrick's and looking down at the ground.

 

“And I just need... _something_ so I can think again, so that I can breathe and talk and write without it feeling too forced or fake or not what it should be.”

 

“Yeah,” Patrick agreed, his voice low. “I haven't since Anna...”

 

He let it trail off, knowing Pete would understand what he was saying.

 

Pete nodded. “Yeah. I shouldn't have... I'm selfish, I guess. Hell, I know I'm a selfish bastard and I know I usually just want what I want and fuck the consequences, but I shouldn't have done that to you.

 

“I just – I knew you wouldn't hurt me, not permanently. And since you seemed OK with the cuddling and everything, I guess I thought this would be more of the same.”

 

“I can't,” Patrick said after a few beats of silence and than he stopped for a second, trying to find the right words for what he wanted to say.

 

“The leaning and hanging out and whatever is fine, but I can't do anything else. I just can't be casual about that with you. I know myself well enough to know that I wouldn't be able to let it be just a casual thing between friends.

 

“You don't want anything else. You don't, Pete,” Patrick repeated when Pete opened his mouth.

 

“You don't and that's fine -I would never be mad at you for that. But don't do this to me again, OK? I can't... I just can't, Pete.”

 

Patrick waited for Pete to nod and than turned to walk around to the van door. Pete caught up to him and slung an arm around Patrick's shoulders.

 

“You're still my bestie, 'Trick,” Pete said and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek.

 

“No shit, asshole,” Patrick grumbled and elbowed him in the side.

 

Pete snickered and than dove into the van. “Let's get this show on the road, bitches.”

 

“Everything OK?” Andy asked quietly as Patrick sat on the bench seat next to Pete and slid the door closed.

 

“As OK as it ever is,” Patrick answered his voice just as low.

 

Andy nodded in understanding before he started the car up. Everything was as normal as could be expected as they settled in for a long drive; Joe talking quietly to Andy about how he used to have a normal life before he decided to start a rock band filled with assholes, Andy chuckling a little and rolling his eyes. Pete throwing whatever he found on the floor at the back of Joe's head until he got bored and put his headphones on.

 

Pete toed off his shoes and swung his feet over onto Patrick's lap before he leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. Patrick put his hand on Pete's ankle and squeezed it affectionately before he started staring out the window.

 

Some where in the back of his mind, he found himself wishing that he could have done whatever it was Pete wanted of him, just for the chance to see Pete on his knees before him.

 

 

 

*

 

 

The rest of the tour went quickly; everything was back to normal. Pete might have been a bit more clingy than usual -and before now Patrick would have thought that was fucken impossible- but other than Pete's tendency to stick to Patrick's side before and after shows instead of inciting riots and brawls, everything was the same.

 

Almost before Patrick could realize it was happening, he was getting dropped off in front of his house and Pete was helping him drag his bags inside.

 

“We'll see you this weekend, Lunchbox,” Pete told him, giving him a hug. “I'll pick you up on Saturday for practice. Try not to miss me too much 'til then.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Patrick scoffed and shoved Pete towards the door. “You know you'll be texting me in two hours, whining about being bored.”

 

“Yeah, but that's why you love me 'Trick,” Pete snickered before he called out a goodbye to Patrick's mom and darted out the front door. “See you later, Mom!”

 

“Pete's still Pete, I see,” Patricia commented before she pulled him in for a long hug.

 

“Yeah, Mom,” Patrick agreed, smiling a little. “Pete's always Pete.”

 

“Well, come on then,” she said after looking over her son for a minute. “There's pizza warming in the oven. You can tell me how touring went.”

 

After eating and talking for a few hours, Patrick dragged all his bags upstairs and collapsed on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

 

He had just gotten changed for bed when his phone started vibrating on his nightstand.

 

_**feels weird to be in an actual bed** _

 

And than almost immediately after:

 

_**see tricky lasted three hours ha** _

 

Patrick laughed and settled down to talk to Pete until he fell asleep.

 

 

*

 

 

By the time school started up again, Patrick had settled back into his normal routine; Pete texting him constantly when they weren't together, band practice three times a week -at least- and getting used to going to bed before three in the morning.

 

The only reason Patrick was even trying to take school semi-seriously was that his mom had already threatened to ban him from practices and shows if his grades started slipping.

 

School was the same as it always was; Patrick kept his head down for the most part, did enough of the work to pass and put most of his energy and time into the band. He had friends, sure, but there wasn't anyone he was particularly close to -and there was definitely no one who could hope to measure up to the band or become as close to him as Pete, Joe and Andy were.

 

Anna was there, too, and while they weren't exactly hostile to each other, there was an awkward, stilted politeness to their interactions that told Patrick they were never going to be able to be friends.

 

Music had always been something tangible to Patrick; he heard it every where and in everything. There was never a time when he _hadn't_ heard it all around him. He thought in music, he lived in it -it was always in his mind, constantly and he couldn't _not_ think about it.

 

No one at school had ever understood that, not even the people he did talk to. He had gotten used to having no one to talk to about the constant rush of noise in his head, the notes and chords that were always there.

 

But then he had overheard two kids in Borders talking music and he had followed his instincts and interrupted them. That was the afternoon he had met Joe and the rest was history.

 

 

*

 

When October rolled around, Patrick's mom had started to ease up on him a little bit; he had been passing all his classes and he even made sure his homework got done. So when he had mentioned that they might be playing a Halloween party the weekend of the holiday, she had only raised an eyebrow and told him to make sure he called her if he ended up crashing at Pete's house instead of coming home.

 

The party they played was at a friend of Andy's; Pete insisted that they had to dress up, get into the spirit of things. Eventually they all caved just so they wouldn't have to listen to Pete bitch about it any more.

 

Joe put on a D.A.R.E. shirt and told everyone he was going as irony; Pete insisted it was the lamest costume ever, but he managed to make Andy laugh, so Joe said it counted as a win.

 

Andy wore his normal jeans, took off his t-shirt and went as a ninja. When Pete called him on it and told him he was wearing the same thing he always did, Andy just looked looked at him, raised an eyebrow, said, “How the hell do you know I'm _not_ a ninja?”, and got the same gleam in his eyes he got when someone scuffed his drums. Pete decided to leave it alone after that; Patrick didn't blame him, Andy was a scary motherfucker sometimes.

 

Patrick just took off his hat, put on some eyeliner, wore one of Pete's sister's shirts and said he was Pete; it was the quickest -and easiest- costume he could think of. Pete looked like he wanted to argue the point, but restricted himself to giving Patrick a dirty look and shaking his head.

 

Pete decided to go as a vampire -which really meant that he just wore fake fangs and put on even more make-up than he normally did- and he decided to forgo wearing a shirt, but that wasn't too unusual. Pete hated wearing clothes unless he absolutely had to and it wasn't strange for him to wander around without a shirt from April until it started snowing.

 

The show -if you could call a corner of a living room with a bunch of college kids milling around and having philosophical debates about everything in existence a show; Patrick figured it said something about his exposure to Andy that he didn't even bat an eye when a fist fight broke out while discussing the finer points of anarchy vs capitalism- went as good as they ever did; they still weren't big enough to cause mass hysteria wherever they went and no matter what Pete said he believed, Patrick had a hard time thinking they ever would be.

 

Once they were done, they packed up the amps and instruments and everything into the back of the van before they decided to hang out for a while.

 

They split off; Andy headed over to talk to some people he hadn't seen in a while, Joe wandered off with a look on his face that clearly said he was trying to hook up -it would probably happen, too; despite being the same age as Patrick, he managed to be able to score with anyone who crossed his path- and Patrick went to see if he could find a can of soda or something to drink; he was toying with the idea of going edge since he wasn't much of a drinker to begin with and he didn't smoke at all.

 

He found some Pepsi and cracked open the can while he leaned against the wall and people watched.

 

Patrick's eyes seemed to automatically search out Pete; he watched as a girl a little taller than Pete tilted her head while she was talking and bite her lip as she moved a little closer to him in a blatant invitation.

 

Pete glanced over his shoulder at Patrick for a few seconds before he turned back to the girl. Not even five minutes later, Pete came over by Patrick and stood close enough to him that their sides were touching and rested his head onto Patrick's shoulder.

 

“Hey, Rickster,” Pete said, his voice low and content.

 

“Hey,” Patrick echoed back, automatically slumping forward an inch or two so that his shoulder dropped down and it was more comfortable for Pete's neck. “Not in the mood tonight?”

 

“Nah, I'm good hanging with you,” Pete said and slipped his arm around Patrick's waist and let most of his weight rest against him. “Like it here.”

 

“Yeah, me, too,” Patrick said and rested his head on top of Pete's. “Me, too.”

 

Patrick felt content, right in that moment, happy where he was. Enough so that he didn't even elbow Pete when he stole the last of his soda.

 

 

*

 

 

The first snowfall that year was on Thanksgiving.

 

Patrick was half asleep -face down on his bed, with his head under the pillow- when his door crashed open and than closed just as enthusiastically. He groaned and clutched the pillow tighter.

 

“Patrick,” Pete shouted as he launched himself onto the bed and Patrick's back. “Wake up, there's snow outside. Come on, 'Trick.”

 

“Pete, shut the fuck up,” Patrick snapped and attempted to burrow even further under his pillow. “It's too early to talk.”

 

“Dude, it's after ten,” Pete pointed out as he moved onto his side and angled his legs so they were across Patrick's knees. “Your mom's downstairs cooking already -who do you think let me in?”

 

“Too early,” Patrick repeated firmly; he moved his arm and looked out from under the pillow long enough to press Pete's head to the mattress.

 

“Sleep,” he went on and put his arm around Pete's waist. “I know you didn't sleep last night. Relax and we'll go throw snowballs at the neighborhood kids later on.”

 

“Yeah, OK,” Pete agreed after a minute and relaxed enough to squirm closer to Patrick. “But only 'cause you asked so nicely.”

 

“Whatever,” Patrick mumbled but he let himself tighten his hold on Pete a little bit as he drifted back to sleep.

 

 

*

 

 

Patrick shoved all his books into his locker and shut it; as he settled his book-bag onto his shoulder, he dug his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his messages.

 

Twenty from Pete -not exactly a surprise- and the last one asked when he was getting out of school.

 

 _ **Now -I just dumped everything in my locker. What's up?**_ Patrick sent back.

 

When there wasn't any answer, Patrick shrugged it off and braced himself for the freezing walk to the bus stop; he had forgotten his coat at home in his mad rush to get out the door on time that morning.

 

He walked out the door and paused to adjust his hood so the brim of his hat wasn't blocking his eyes too badly.

 

Just as he turned to leave, Patrick heard someone call his name from the school parking lot. He glanced over and some how wasn't shocked to see Pete sitting on the hood of his car, surrounded by people and gesturing madly in Patrick's direction.

 

Patrick thought about walking away, just to see what Pete would do, but he decided the resulting bitch fit wouldn't be worth the brief amusement and headed for his best friend instead.

 

“Patrick,” Pete shouted gleefully and broke away from the people to jog over to Patrick; he wrapped his arms around him in his best octopus imitation and squeezed tightly.

 

“Hey, Pete,” Patrick said as he hugged Pete back; he could feel everyone's eyes on them and he knew his face was turning red from the attention.

 

“'Trick, I've been waiting out here for almost an hour,” Pete complained as he grabbed Patrick's wrist and started towing him through the small group of kids that were there. “What the fuck, dude. I thought you got out at two.”

 

“Only before break,” Patrick reminded him, smiling a little. “Otherwise, it's at three -which I told you last week when you asked. You need to listen to people when they're talking to you, asshole.”

 

Pete made a scoffing noise and let go of his wrist to pry the car keys out of his pocket. “There's no time for semantics, Patrick, let's go.”

 

“I'm going to remind you of that the next time you want to argue something for an hour,” Patrick promised and just raised an eyebrow when Pete sent him a dirty look.

 

“See you guys,” Pete said absently to the people standing by the car before he focused his attention back on Patrick.

 

Patrick found more than one incredulous look thrown his way; he wasn't even offended by them. At best, he was just normal looking; he wasn't going to break any mirrors but he wasn't on Pete's level, either.

 

He _did_ feel smug, however; maybe it made no sense, but Pete preferred him and he couldn't help the smirk on his face as he climbed into the passenger's side.

 

“We're definitely stopping at Starbucks,” Pete told him as he pulled out of the school's parking lot. “I need all the caffeine I can get before I can deal with the traffic by Andy's.”

 

“Don't we have to pick up Joe, too?” Patrick asked as he tossed his book-bag into the backseat and stretched out his legs.

 

“Motherfucker,” Pete cursed and pulled up to the drive-thru window. “Fucken asshole, I forgot about that.

 

“Two large Gingerbread lattes, one with an extra shot of espresso, and a large hot chocolate,” Pete said to the cashier, his fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.

 

He paid for their drinks and passed the carrier off to Patrick while he got the change and pulled away from the building.

 

Patrick gave him his latte and watched in amusement as Pete took a huge gulp and winced as he burned his tongue. Patrick balanced Joe's hot chocolate on his knee and took a smaller sip of his own drink.

 

“I hope Joe's chocolate's cold as fuck by the time we get there,” Pete said darkly and turned to go back the way they just came from.

 

Patrick just smiled and listened to Pete bitch and moan the whole way to Joe's house.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Patrick woke up on New Year's Day laying against the arm of someone's couch, with Pete snoring in his ear.

 

It took a minute but he remembered that him and Joe had crashed in Pete's parents basement instead of going home at three in the morning. He moved enough to check out the rest of the room and sure enough, Joe was passed out on the floor, using a bean bag chair as a pillow.

 

Patrick tried to crack his neck without moving his shoulder but it was impossible and he heard Pete mumble something and than sit all the way up. He looked at Patrick for a minute before he stretched out on the couch and rested his head in Patrick's lap.

 

Patrick smiled slightly and carded his fingers through Pete's hair; Pete made a pleased noise and pushed his face into Patrick's stomach. After a minute, Patrick could hear Pete's breathing evening out.

 

It made all of his protective instincts stir to see Pete sprawled on his lap and trusting him enough to fall back asleep. It made him want things he had been trying to ignore for months; he knew it had no chance to actually happen and he had never considered himself the type for emotional masochism.

 

But he didn't pull away, he didn't wake Pete up and tell him to take him home.

 

He just kept playing with Pete's hair and made up more fantasies in his head that had no chance of coming true until Joe started waking up and they could hear Pete's family moving around in the kitchen.

 

 

*

 

 

Pete showed up at Patrick's house early afternoon on Easter.

 

“Hey,” Patrick said when he opened the door and found Pete standing there. “What's up? I thought we weren't going to hang out until tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Pete replied and hunched his shoulders. He glanced at Patrick before he looked back down at the ground. “I just thought... I could go if you want.”

 

“Don't be stupid,” Patrick rolled his eyes and stepped aside to let him in. He kept his voice light but his eyes narrowed as he took in Pete's defensive body language.

 

He wasn't really surprised when Pete wrapped his arms around him and buried his face into the side of Patrick's neck.

 

“Hey,” Patrick repeated, this time in a soothing murmur. “What happened?”

 

“The usual,” Pete mumbled, his voice barely audible. “I don't want to talk about it. Can I stay here for a while?”

 

Patrick wanted to demand that Pete tell him what the fuck happened, but he knew it wouldn't do any good; not only was Pete not his sub to be ordering to do anything, Pete was stubborn as hell about some things. If Pete wanted him to know, he would either tell him or they would start showing up in the lyrics Pete gave him -pushing the subject now would just make Pete withdraw further into himself and shut down completely.

 

“Of course,” Patrick answered as he pulled away. “Since when _aren't_ you welcome here? I think my Mom likes you better than she does me.”

 

“Don't hold it against her, 'Trick,” Pete told him; the grin he put on didn't reach his eyes but he relaxed a little and threw his arm around Patrick's shoulder. “I'm just a charming bastard like that - _everyone_ loves me best.”

 

“Right,” Patrick drawled as they went into the kitchen.

 

He watched as his mother greeted Pete with a smile and brief hug before she started trying to get him to eat; she was always convinced that Pete was starving himself when he wasn't at their house. Pete laughed a little and shared an amused look with Patrick before he started eating some of the cookies that were on the table.

 

He kept an eye on Pete for the rest of the day and as Pete gradually relaxed so did Patrick. If anyone had asked him why he was keeping such a close eye on Pete, Patrick would have just shrugged and said it was because Pete was his best friend.

 

It was both the truth and a lie and Patrick knew he needed to figure out what the hell was going on and soon.

 

 

*

 

 

Patrick's seventeenth birthday started off the same as any other birthday -he got up late, stumbled downstairs, managed to eat a couple of waffles, got his birthday card from his mother and left for school. He remembered to tell her that there was still practice after school -birthday or not, it was still Wednesday- on his way out the door.

 

He got a text from Joe while he was waiting for the bus - _ **Hey, Stump -congrats on finally being legal**_ (which was funny coming from Joe who wouldn't be of age for a few more months)- but he figured that was because Joe was up for school; he wouldn't be surprised if he didn't hear from Pete or Andy until practice.

 

The first part of the school day was as quiet as usual; he was half asleep all the way through Math and English, but by the time he got to Spanish, he was almost all the way awake. He really needed to work on waking up early enough to get coffee before he left for school.

 

Patrick got a couple 'Happy Birthday's from his friends at lunch and he was on his way to History class afterward when Anna stopped him.

 

“Hey, Patrick, I just wanted to wish you a 'Happy Birthday',” she told him, pushing her hair behind her ear.

 

“Oh. Um, thanks,” Patrick said, feeling vaguely awkward as he tried to figure out what to say next. “I really, uh, appreciate it.”

 

“Your welcome,” Anna replied and smiled a little. “What are you doing at school? I thought you'd be doing something else since you're of age now and everything.”

 

“It's Wednesday,” he answered with a shrug. “We've got practice this afternoon and my mom wants to have dinner, so...”

 

“Oh, you're still in the same band,” Anna said slowly and she glanced away when Patrick nodded warily. “Pete's still there, too, I bet.”

 

“Why wouldn't he be?” Patrick asked, his voice sharp. He had barely been able to tolerate Anna's attitude about Pete when they were together, never mind now when there was no reason for him to try and keep the peace.

 

“Look, I've got to go -O'Brien'll kill me if I'm late to class,” Patrick went on when she didn't say anything. He made sure to keep a hold on his temper; getting angry wouldn't help anything and he really didn't need the hassle of getting sent to the office today.

 

“See you around.”

 

He managed to walk in the door just as the bell rang and he sat down in his usual chair in the back and tried to look like he was paying attention to the lesson but he was still semi-aggravated from his conversation with Anna.

 

Patrick finally pushed it to the back of his mind when his phone vibrated in his pocket. After sneaking a glance to the front of the room to make sure the teacher was still looking at the board, Patrick pulled it out and opened it under the desk.

 

_**happy b-day, tricky. want a kiss or a smack?** _

 

Patrick smirked as he replied, _**I have to choose? I don't get both?**_

 

A few seconds later his phone went off again.

 

_**youre a greedy fucker, trick -its probably why youre my bestie.** _

 

Patrick bit back a chuckle and spent the rest of the period texting Pete.

 

 

*

 

 

Band practice just ended up being an excuse to hang out and eat some vegan cupcakes that Andy had gotten for Patrick -they were surprisingly good, too; Patrick would never tell Andy, but a lot of vegan food just tasted like nothing to him, but the cupcakes actually tasted like chocolate and icing.

 

He got into a wrestling match with Joe that ended up with all of them laughing hysterically with smashed cake on their shirts and icing every where.

 

Patrick was still snickering about it when he got home. His mother laughed when she saw the state of clothes and told him there was enough time before dinner from to take a quick shower and change.

 

They didn't really talk about anything important while they were eating, most of it was just small talk about school and the band.

 

“Well, Patrick, I suppose it's official: you're an adult now,” Patricia mused as they put the dishes in the sink and than went back into the living room.

 

Patrick ducked his head and tried his hardest not blush; although, from the way he could feel his face heating up, it was a complete bust.

 

“I'm sure you already know where this conversation is going,” she went on, smiling as Patrick continued to look at the floor. “Since I just had it with Kevin a couple years ago before he went to college. So, I'm just going to skip all the formalities and ask you if there's anyone you want as a sub?”

 

Patrick's mind instantly pictured Pete the same way he had a thousand times before -on his bed, being held down- but he just shook his head slightly.

 

“No, there's no one,” Patrick answered, regret in his voice.

 

“You might be surprised, Patrick,” Patricia started to say and than smiled when someone knocked on the front door. “You better go answer that -I can't imagine it would be for me.”

 

Patrick frowned when he opened the door and Pete was standing there. “Hey, Pete -is everything alright?”

 

“Yeah, man, stop worrying so much,” Pete scoffed. “I just forgot to give you your present earlier.”

 

“Oh, OK,” Patrick said and motioned him inside before he closed the door. He raised an eyebrow when Pete just stood there looking at him.

 

“Dude, I can't give it you in front of your mother,” Pete answered the silent question, lowering his voice; he made a series of gestures that Patrick took to mean he wanted to go upstairs to his bedroom.

 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Alright, go ahead; I'm pretty sure I'm almost done talking to my mom, anyway.”

 

Pete grinned and darted upstairs after waving 'hi' to Patrick's mother.

 

When Patrick turned back to his mother, she was looking at him knowingly but to his relief all she said was, “Since Pete's here to keep you company, I'm going to run to the store. I'll be back in an hour or so.”

 

Patrick nodded and waited downstairs for her to leave before he headed up to his room.

 

“Alright, Wentz, what's the big -” Patrick started to say before he pushed open his bedroom door and cut himself off.

 

Pete was in the middle of his room, without his shirt on and _on his knees_. Patrick blinked rapidly, unable to believe what he was seeing. Pete's head was bowed and his hands clasped behind his back.

 

He took a hesitant step into his room, feeling extremely on edge and unsure what to do next. Patrick glanced at his bed quickly and looked away before his brain registered what he had seen and he took a longer look.

 

There was a small pile of papers sitting there and even from this distance, Patrick recognized his mother's sprawling signature as one of four that were on the bottom of the piece of paper on top. Next to it, there was a plain black collar that made his breath catch.

 

“Pete,” Patrick said and his voice sounded rough even to his own ears. “I -you – _what are you doing_?”

 

“I thought that was fairly obvious,” Patrick heard him mutter and for some reason, hearing Pete be himself helped Patrick feel more settled, more like he could handle this.

 

“Fair enough,” Patrick said and he let his amusement show. “I should have said, 'why are you doing this?' I know it's not what you want.”

 

“No, it's not what I _wanted_ ,” Pete told him, stressing the last word. “But I do now.

 

“And before you even bring it up, yes, I've thought about this,” Pete said and Patrick smiled ruefully; he had just been about to open his mouth and say exactly that.

 

“It's all I've thought about for almost a year. It drove me crazy when you and Anna were still together; I couldn't stand the way she refused to see how talented you were -she was always trying to get you to quit the band, she never even tried to understand how much music means to you.

 

“At first, I tried to ignore it, tried to tell myself that I couldn't trust this part of me to anyone, not even you. But I realized -about halfway through touring- that I _do_ trust it to you in a lot of ways already.

 

“My words...no one's ever seen them before you, I never found anyone else I wanted to show them to. And you already take care of me, all the time, even when you don't realize it. You've never taken advantage of me, not even when I would have let you.

 

“ _ **You're the only place that still feels like home**_ ,” Pete sang softly, his eyes meeting Patrick's briefly before he focused back onto the ground.

 

Hearing Pete use on of their songs, one they just started to work on a few days ago, drove the point home to Patrick like nothing else did.

 

“Pete, you -” Patrick started to say before he took a deep breath and picked the collar up off of the bed and ran his fingers over it. “You need to be sure. I don't – I can't do this if you're gonna change your mind in a few months. It'll kill me. And I just – I _can't_.”

 

“The contract's for ten years,” Pete informed him, his head jerking toward the papers on the bed. “Does that give you any indication of how fucken serious I am?”

 

Patrick inhaled sharply, his hand clenching involuntarily around the collar he was still holding; most contracts were for only five years at the most. They were extremely binding and were hard to draw up because they had a lot of details to them -and considering you were tying not only two lives together, but that you were sometimes trusting one person's well-being to another's, it made sense they were so extensive and exhaustive. Getting out of them were just as hard and even more expensive.

 

“My parent's lawyers have been working on it for months,” Pete said and his voice would have sounded even to anyone else, but Patrick could hear the nerves dancing underneath it.

 

“Then your mother had to look it over -and believe me, it took some convincing for her not to say anything to you about it,” Pete chuckled briefly before he turned back to the subject.

 

“But I wanted it to be a surprise for you. Everyone's already signed it -it just needs yours and than your ass is stuck with me for the next decade.”

 

Patrick took a minute digest Pete's words and than he was on his knees in front of Pete, his hands shaking a little as he fastened the collar around Pete's neck.

 

“You won't be sorry,” Patrick promised and tipped Pete's face up so he could rest his forehead against Pete's. “Not _ever_.”

 

“I know,” Pete assured him, smirking affectionately at his best friend. “It's you, 'Trick -I never could be sorry when it's you.”


End file.
